


Therapy

by Vera_dAuriac



Series: Coming Clean [1]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Bathroom Sex, Breathplay, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hand Jobs, Historical Inaccuracy, Multi, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2016-03-26
Packaged: 2018-05-28 01:33:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6309019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vera_dAuriac/pseuds/Vera_dAuriac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Mmm. Do that again and I will have something better for you to hold onto.”</p><p>Aramis is recovering from several injuries, hoping Athos won't leave him behind when he and Porthos leave for their next mission. Hopefully all of the Inseparables' problems can come out in the wash, as it were.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pansicles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pansicles/gifts).



> Yeah, so the garrison bathhouse I've invented started from what ScoutLover did in her story "In Hot Water" and grew from there. It is riddled with historical inaccuracies. But it's all in an effort to have wet, horny Musketeers, so I hope you forgive me.  
> "In Hot Water": https://archiveofourown.org/works/5943667

by Vera d'Auriac

Porthos fought to concentrate on the task at hand. Because concentrating on Aramis’s naked body was so much more tempting. “Careful,” he said. “Do you need help stepping in?”

“No,” Aramis replied with a wince. “My legs aren’t the problem, and my back isn’t too horrific. Just don’t lose your grip on me.”

Porthos pressed a wet kiss to Aramis’s jaw, while tightening his grip just a bit on Aramis’s upper arm and waist. “I’ve no problem holding on to you.”

“Mmm. Do that again and I will have something better for you to hold onto.”

“Aramis,” Porthos growled out the name low and slow. “Remember why we’re in this position. You have a bad shoulder and just took a serious blow to the back. You need to take care of yourself, so none of that.”

Aramis managed to get one foot in the tub with a groan. “Yet my aches and pains disagree. See. Something is just calling out for you to hold on to.”

Porthos accepted the invitation to look down at Aramis’s stiffening cock while balancing Aramis as he finished getting into the tub. The man was _always_ horny. How in the hell did he live like that? Forever aroused. Granted, Porthos benefited from this trait, but damn! How did Aramis do it? “You got hit square across the middle of you back with a club while you’re already nursing a dislocated shoulder you injured two days ago. If you could see the bruise, you wouldn’t joke.”

“Who said I was joking?” However, Aramis’s grin turned to a grimace as he sank down into the tub of steaming water. “Oh, this would be nicer if I could figure out which way I could sit.”

Porthos looked around the copper tub with Aramis, trying to figure out the best position. He was currently kneeling in the tub, but that would eventually hurt his knees. Normally, he would lean back, submerged, but leaning against the metal side with his bruise and aching shoulder wouldn’t be any good. A stack of towels were piled on the table on the other side of the large tiled bath in the floor. The table could be used for rub downs and examinations, but at this point in the night, no one else would likely be looking for a towel to use. Although, someone might be looking to do something else on that table. Like fuck. It was where Treville had fucked them both the first time when he’d caught them messing around here in the garrison bathhouse.

“Let me put those towels behind you so you can lean back. Kneeling is going to get uncomfortable pretty fast.”

“I don’t know,” Aramis said with discomfort plain as anything in his voice. “I do pretty well on my knees.”

“You are the randiest bastard I ever met.”

“Randy? Why, whatever to you mean, Porthos? I was referring to my prowess at prayer.”

Porthos snorted and went over and grabbed the towels. “Do you remember what the Captain did to us on this table?”

Aramis grinned at Porthos as he walked back. “I don’t suppose you mean when he checked the regiment’s feet for rot?”

“No.” Porthos wiggled his eyebrows. It truly was one of his favorite memories. Not that he wasn’t happy with Aramis, but they both liked to have a little fun on the side, and when they could manage it, fun together with someone else. Nothing could top the night Treville had made use of the private entrance leading down from his office to the bathhouse and found them. They had known having sex in the bathhouse risked them getting caught. But the main door could be closed and a bar slipped into place. That only left Treville’s door, and everyone knew he bathed first thing in the morning. So if two, or more, Musketeers wanted to show each other some brotherly love, as long as they did it at night, it would be fine.

At least that was the theory. Aramis had been on his knees, in fact, sucking Porthos’s cock like he was trying to get a ball through a gun barrel when Treville walked in, well after dinner. Aramis had quickly pulled his mouth away, but been decidedly slower removing his fingers from Porthos’s ass. In fact, Aramis had been slowly sliding them out as Treville stalked across the floor toward them.

Aramis now sat down in the tub and sighed without leaning back yet. “How could I forget? We were both so embarrassed and terrified about what he might do to us. He looked so formidable scowling. And then he said—”

“’You two don’t think you invented buggery in the garrison bathhouse do you?’” Porthos finished. They both laughed as he tucked the towels behind Aramis. “And then he buggered us both. Damn, but I’ll never forget that.”

“The Captain leads in many ways,” Aramis said with a contented grin, leaning back against the pile of towels. Of course, that was the moment Porthos realized he should have kept one out to dry Aramis with. Oh well, he would just have to air dry, wouldn’t he? “I would love it if he came and led us again.”

Aramis was resting contentedly, eyes closed, while Porthos just watched his beautiful face. When he looked down through the water, the distortion couldn’t stop him from seeing that Aramis was fully erect now. He could feel in his pants that he was more hard than not himself. “That would be nice, but I’m not holding my breath.”

“I like holding my breath,” Aramis smiled a wicked smile, his eyes still closed. “Porthos, be a dear and shove my head under water.”

“What?” Porthos asked, but it only took him a fraction of a second to get what Aramis was saying. “Absolutely not. You’re injured. Now is not the time.”

“Now is the perfect time. With my injury, the tub is the best place to please me.”

“I thought you wanted me to push your head under water.”

“While you grab my cock, you fool.” Aramis grinned and peeked from under still mostly closed eyelids. “Please? I’ve wanted you all day, and I think this the best we can pull off.”

“Aramis.” Porthos often tried to say the name sternly, but he was pretty sure it only excited Aramis more. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You’ll break my heart, not to mention my balls, if you refuse.”

“I don’t want to hurt you. And I didn’t bar the door.”

Aramis’s grin spread obscenely. “Then go do so. That would leave Treville as the only person who might possibly find us. And that would actually be rather wonderful.”

Porthos growled. “As nice as that would be, wouldn’t you rather he caught us on a night you were feeling better?”

“I’m not picky. I would take the Captain’s attentions any day. Go, bar the door, Porthos. Please. You at least have to touch me. I’m _aching_.”

Porthos really couldn’t ignore the throbbing in his pants, either, so he did as he was bid. He wasn’t sure how he would best show his love to Aramis, but he knew he had to. Like Aramis, he had been ready all day. When they had arrived in the yard to begin training, they had each been given a musket to start with target practice. The way Aramis handled firearms was always intoxicating. Yes, when he knew someone was watching, he would intentionally polish it in obscene ways. But when no one was looking, when Aramis thought he was alone with his firearm, the way he held it and caressed it was all the more obscene for being unthinking.

Firearms had been followed by hand-to-hand combat. Aramis had only participated lightly because of his healing shoulder, yet that hadn’t prevented someone in another practice group from losing his balance and slamming a club across Aramis’s back. Being Aramis, he had sworn he was fine and it had not aggravated his injury, and so he moved onto fencing.

But he only muddled through, wincing throughout. Luckily, Athos had let them stay together so Porthos could play at fencing with Aramis and not push him at all. The truth was, Aramis couldn’t have bested someone’s grandmother. The look on Athos’s face showed real concern, because he naturally saw through their playacting, but he let Porthos pretend and take Aramis away at the end of the day.

“It was nice of Athos to let us spar together,” Porthos said, returning and kneeling next to the tub.

“Mmm. Yes. Speaking of people I wouldn’t mind walking in on us.” Porthos let his hand fall into the water and sink until it found Aramis’s cock. “Bless you, Porthos.” The blessed one tugged and Aramis moaned. “Athos. What do you think?”

“I think if you weren’t around, he’d be the most beautiful man in the regiment.” Porthos pulled slowly, but firmly on Aramis’s cock, loving the feel of it sliding through his hand. “But do you think he’d be interested? He seems so uninterested in everything besides swords and missions and wine.”

“I don’t know.” Aramis adjusted his hips and smiled while Porthos continued. “But that doesn’t change that I want to lick the scars on his mouth and wrap my hands around his waist. My God, Porthos, have you looked at his waist?”

Porthos growled and gripped Aramis harder. “You’d have to be blind not to notice his waist. What do you think he’d look like in just his belts?”

Aramis gasped, and Porthos liked to think it was because he was such a talented partner, but he knew it was like as much due to what he’d just said. “Delicious. He’d look—” But Aramis spluttered. Water washed over his face, neither of them realizing what kind of waves they were making. “Do that again,” Aramis asked, his chin at the waterline.

“Do what?” Porthos asked, his stroke on Aramis’s cock now slow and even.

“Give it a good tug. Get the water churning.”

Porthos did as instructed. The look of joy on Aramis’s face when the water splashed up on his head was gorgeous. He did it again, but this time Aramis slid down the side of the tub, submerging his head. When he resurfaced a few seconds later, his smile was ecstatic.

“Oh, Porthos, that’s nearly perfect. Faster. And hold me under.”

When Aramis looked this beautiful, this overflowing with passion, Porthos wanted to do everything for him. He desperately needed for Aramis to feel how much he loved him and would do anything for him. So, he knew Aramis liked it when he couldn’t breathe when he came. He’d tried it once himself, so he understood the appeal, but Porthos wondered if this was a good idea right now. He loved Aramis, and he wanted to give him everything. Just nothing that would really hurt him. “Bad idea,” Porthos said, still pulling on Aramis’s cock. He might not want to pretend to drown Aramis, but looking at the water stream off his face and drip from his hair made it impossible for Porthos to let go. “You _are_ injured, you know.”

“Porthos,” Aramis panted. “This won’t hurt my back at all. I promise I’ll give you a pinch if anything hurts.”

“I don’t know. We can always do it some other time.”

Aramis slid under the water, but his moan was so loud, Porthos could hear it. He picked up his pace on Aramis’s cock. When he came back up for air, he smiled. “I’ll go under on my own. But it would be so much better if you held me down. Oh, God, Porthos. I’m so close. Just do it.”

He couldn’t say no. Porthos laced the fingers of his free hand into Aramis’s hair and pushed his head under, all the while, pulling as hard and fast as he dared with his other hand. Aramis’s moans continued loud enough for Porthos to hear though the water, and he desperately wished for a third hand, he wanted to touch himself so bad. But Aramis’s hands were clutching the rim of the tub, his knuckles white. He was close now. So close.

“Stop.”

Porthos froze, unable to disobey that voice. Slowly, he raised his head, to see Athos standing in the doorway leading from Treville’s office. Athos was as still as Porthos, maybe even more since Porthos’s heart pounded so hard he assumed it had to make him shake. Kneeling under that commanding glare of Athos’s that made you question your right to exist, Porthos didn’t know what to do. Until he heard a splash and helped Aramis sit up.

Aramis coughed out some water. “What’s wrong? Why did you stop?”

Porthos didn’t answer, couldn’t answer, had no ability to move or speak under the weight of Athos’s disappointment. Aramis had to turn to see what Porthos was staring at, and Porthos cursed when Aramis groaned, now in pain. As soon as he was turned around enough to see Athos, Aramis stopped, dropped his head to his chest, and groaned once more.

“I was talking to the Captain,” Athos began quietly, but his voice was always so clear, neither of them had trouble hearing him. “I told him of my worries for Aramis’s health. My question as to whether or not he would be ready for the mission at the end of the week.” He paused, and Porthos and Aramis both continued staring anywhere but at him. “I have to say that I expected to find the two of you tending to Aramis’s injuries, not possibly making them worse.”

“What we were doing,” Aramis said, but halted. After a quick breath, he went on. “It wasn’t causing any pain.”

“I can see the bruise from here,” said Athos, probably fifteen or twenty feet away. “What you were doing was not going to help your previous or your new injuries. You should be actively treating it, not taking risks for the sake of your own pleasure.”

“There was no risk.”

“There was _every_ risk,” Athos snapped. Porthos dared to look up. He’d never seen Athos so angry—breathing labored and his face reddening. “The punishment for rendering yourself unfit for duty, I assure you, is a serious one.”

“You should know from the number of times you drank yourself unfit,” Aramis answered.

“Aramis,” Porthos said with a hand to his shoulder. Sure, the situation was awkward, and Athos was right in that Porthos should have never gone along with Aramis’s request. But none of that meant they should go hurting each other.

“And you, Porthos,” Athos whispered angrily. “Participating. I expected better from you.”

“Aramis is going to be fine,” Porthos said. “I’m going to get him out right now and rub some oil on his bruise. He’ll be fine for the mission. You’ll see.”

“Yes,” Athos said with a scowl. “I will see.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "While Athos always had a melancholy air about him, Treville hadn’t seen him this… _sad_ in quite some time."
> 
> Captain Treville tries to help Athos come to terms with what he just saw Aramis and Porthos doing as only he can.

Treville sat staring at the ledger of garrison accounts, unable to make them come out in his favor. He had just about decided the numbers would be forever against him as long as he was this tired when he heard boots on the stairs from the bathhouse. Athos had not gone down them long ago after reporting to him about the day’s training, but Treville had expected him to exit from the main door, probably along with Porthos and Aramis. But it had to be Athos. The other men knew better than to approach his office from any other way than the front door. He closed the ledger and was in the process of locking it away for the night when Athos emerged.

Treville had his mouth open to ask how Aramis was doing, but Athos’s frown and downcast eyes stopped him. “What’s the matter?” he asked instead.

“Nothing,” Athos replied in barely more than a whisper as he continued toward the main door out of the office without pausing or looking up. Treville slammed the door shut on the locker and in two quick strides intercepted Athos at the door.

“I asked what is the matter. I expect an answer.”

Athos finally met his gaze. While Athos always had a melancholy air about him, Treville hadn’t seen him this… _sad_ in quite some time. With a mission at the end of the week, he didn’t like the idea of Athos experiencing a down turn at the moment. But even though Athos now looked at Treville, he still refused to speak. The sadness seemed too overwhelming.

“Let’s start with how Aramis is doing,” Treville said in a kind voice.

This question, however, caused Athos’s expression to grow more pained. _Should I offer him a drink?_ Treville wondered. But if Athos started drinking now, there was no telling when he would stop. Yet, the fact remained, he seemed unable to say anything, so Treville needed to loosen his tongue somehow. He reached up and placed a hand on Athos’s cheek, brushing back and forth with his thumb. “Please tell me what’s wrong.”

Athos sighed and leaned into the touch. It had been at least two years since Treville had caressed Athos this intimately. When Athos had first joined the Musketeers, his emotional state had been as bad as any man Treville had ever met. There were moments, in fact, when Treville had worried he would lose Athos to the bottle or his own despair. But then he had shown Athos another kind of brotherhood. Athos had hesitated, but it quickly became clear that as aloof as he pretended to be, _tried_ to be, he ached for physical reassurance as much as the next man, perhaps more. For his first year in the regiment, Treville had guided Athos through the worst of his demons by being both mentor and lover when Athos needed him. One day, without a word, Athos’s posture toward Treville had changed, and Treville had seen that Athos no longer wished for the physical relationship to continue. And since he seemed better, Treville respected the decision without comment. But today, the sadness in Athos’s countenance bespoke something different. And Treville would always do what he could to comfort Athos.

But a moment later Athos removed Treville’s hand from his cheek. Although he didn’t let Treville’s hand go and still held it clutched in his own close to his face. “It is nothing.”

Treville wanted scream an order at Athos, but Athos was the kind of man to resent such a tactic. Instead, Treville freed his thumb from Athos’s grip and brushed it along the scar of his upper lip. What had happened in the bathhouse? What could have Athos so miserable after he had appeared his normal self when reporting minutes earlier? He had simply gone down to the bathhouse, and Aramis and Porthos had…?

Well, Treville knew quite well what those two liked to do in the bathhouse. With Aramis’s injuries, he wouldn’t have thought they could today, but Aramis was a determined man. Even if that were the case, though, surely Athos knew what Porthos and Aramis did in the bathhouse. And in their quarters, the stables, back alleys, and even once the kitchen. In other words, Athos must know of their special brotherly bond. Athos couldn’t actually find it shocking.

Then Treville remembered when des Essarts had walked in on Treville and de Foix sucking each other’s cocks. It was one thing to know your brothers had sex. It was another thing to see it. It was an even more overwhelming experience to realize how much you wanted to be a part of it.

“You knew they were lovers,” Treville whispered. Athos turned his face away and tried to snatch back his hand, but Treville held firm. “You saw them,” he stated bluntly. “How did it make you feel?”

“Aramis accused me of rendering myself unfit for duty with drink,” Athos answered.

Treville fought for the missing pieces that led from his question to this answer. He had only vague guesses, so he decided to address Athos’s statement and not its possible meanings. “You haven’t done that in years. I won’t let you.”

“Perhaps we have differing opinions as to what constitutes fitness.”

“Will Aramis be fit for the mission?” Treville asked, taking a stab at one of the possible explanations for Athos’s reaction. The fact that Athos, once more would not answer provided a clue that perhaps Treville was on the right path. “Aramis’s mental state is as important as his physical. I’ve been worried about him ever since he dislocated his shoulder.”

“What do you mean?” Athos looked into Treville’s eye, his gaze a little lost and searching. Treville couldn’t resist a squeeze of the hand he still held firmly.

“The initial injury has been difficult for Aramis. And I watched him today after he took that club to the back. His slouch wasn’t just physical. Young men always have a hard time when their bodies fail. Men like Aramis who connect so much of who they are with their bodies have an even harder time. He needs your compassion, Athos. Not stern glares.”

“But you didn’t see them,” Athos pleaded as much with his eyes as his voice. “If they want Aramis to recover, Porthos should have never been doing what he was.”

Knowing Porthos and Aramis, what Athos had seen them doing could have been nearly anything. In fact, Athos could be absolutely justified or merely jealous, or both. Although, at this moment, with Athos standing in front of him in so much pain, Treville knew it didn’t matter. “Nevertheless, Aramis needs your comfort. He is feeling vulnerable and afraid. He was looking to Porthos to ease his troubles. You should help him as well.”

“But the mission.”

“He will either be ready to go or he won’t. But after this mission, Aramis will still be your brother. Take care of him, Athos.”

Athos’s grip on Treville’s hand had relaxed enough that Treville could move their hands jointly back to Athos’s cheek. After he rubbed the back of his fingers along Athos’s jaw, he kissed Athos’s forehead. “I’m here whenever you need me,” he whispered into Athos’s hair.

“Yes. Thank you.” With a last squeeze, Athos released Treville’s hand and left the office.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Aramis knew he couldn’t actually bullshit Porthos, but he hoped Porthos would understand that Aramis needed him to pretend that he’d been bullshitted."
> 
> Aramis tries to make it though training the next day.

Aramis couldn’t even pretend he wasn’t in pain the next day when he shuffled into training. His shoulder was still achy, but he thought with a few days of rest, it would be entirely healed. Of course, he didn’t have a few days to rest it—in two they would be leaving on a mission, and if he wanted to go with Athos and Porthos, rest was not an option.

And none of this took into account the new injury. He could feel every inch of the bruise across his back. It throbbed and ached and felt incredibly stiff. Everything about it made him long to crawl back into bed, to just say, “Sorry, Athos, I’m sitting this one out.” But after he had assured Athos what he and Porthos had been doing in the bath hadn’t harmed him, Aramis had to somehow prove he wasn’t as hurt as he actually was.

“So, you had better learn to pretend,” Aramis muttered to himself on his way to join the other Musketeers getting ready to practice their short dagger work on straw dummies. Jacques was running the training, and Aramis felt reasonably sure he could bluff his way past him by only using his good, left hand.

Jacques nodded and said encouraging things to the men as he made his way down the line. “Oh, just punch him in the face,” he said to Porthos. “Your fists probably can cause more damage than a knife.”

Porthos laughed and stabbed his dummy in the face with his blade. Aramis caught his eye and winked. The gorgeous, dimpled smile Porthos favored him with in return utterly threw Aramis, so he wasn’t entirely ready when Jacques stopped at his side.

“Are you going to just stand there all day or are you going to stick the pointy end of that thing in something?” Jacques asked.

Aramis lunged at the dummy, utilizing all the grace and fluid movement he’d learned as a fencer. But he also made it short and fast, as befitted this sort of close work. He quite literally knocked a goodly amount of the stuffing out of his target.

“Not bad, but why the left?” asked Jacques.

“He’s pampering his right,” Athos answered from behind Aramis, causing him to stop mid slash. “How is your shoulder feeling today? And your back?”

Jacques seemed to understand that it was time to move on, and Aramis stepped away from the others slightly so he could speak with Athos. God knew Aramis didn’t want to talk to Athos. In fact, he had been hoping to avoid Athos all day, or at least until rapier practice, since Athos would be pretty unavoidable at that point. He wasn’t ready to face Athos and his disappointed glare. But what could he do? Run away? Hardly. 

“A bit stiff,” Aramis answered while he took his time turning to face Athos. 

“Just stiff?” 

Aramis disliked the skepticism in Athos’s demeanor as much as he had dreaded the expected disapproval. Of course, he couldn’t answer honestly, couldn’t say he’d barely slept for the pain and his inability to get comfortable in any position. Had it not been for Porthos eventually sitting Aramis up and cradling him softly against his chest, Aramis doubted he would have slept at all. 

If nothing else, no matter how miserable he felt, a smile was always within Aramis’s grasp, so he put one on. “Yes. I’m quite sure as the day progresses and the temperature rises, it will loosen up nicely.” 

Athos nodded and moved on. Aramis well knew Athos hadn’t believed a word he’d said, but at least he had gotten through the encounter. In fact, the second Athos’s back was turned, Aramis allowed himself to sag. He didn’t know how he would make it out of the morning, let alone to some vague time later when his relentless stiffness and pain would be gone. Because he knew injuries well enough to know it wouldn’t be gone. Certainly not today, at any rate.

“You alright?” Porthos whispered in his ear, gently resting a hand on his good shoulder. 

Aramis thought about unburdening himself. After all, Porthos had been up with him all night, so he knew what kind of pain Aramis was in. And yet, Aramis wanted to keep it to himself, as if somehow not admitting to the pain would make it go away. “Never better! Well, perhaps that’s an exaggeration. You know, if you will excuse me, I need to sharpen my blade. This target proved a worthier foe than I expected.” 

Porthos squinted at him. Aramis knew he couldn’t actually bullshit Porthos, but he hoped Porthos would understand that Aramis needed him to pretend that he’d been bullshitted. He held his breath, waiting for a response, when Cesar called for Porthos. 

Porthos growled. “Told Cesar I’d help with the hand-to-hand classes today.” 

“You should be running them every day,” Aramis said, meaning every word now. “I’m sure he was a fine fighter twenty years ago, but I think he’s taken one too many blows to the head.” 

Aramis was rewarded again with the most glorious dimples in existence. He longed to lick them. Later, surely. “So you want me to take his blows to the head? Are you hoping it will make it easier to take advantage of me?” 

“Absolutely.” Without thinking, Aramis patted Porthos on the arm with his right hand. Lifting it to shoulder height strained so much he couldn’t contain a grimace. “Please ignore that,” he whispered. “Truly, I’ll be fine if I take a rest and sharpen my blade. Go enjoy knocking heads together.” 

“I will. And you take care. You know I’d kiss you right now if I could.”

“Oh, I’d do more than kiss you, but it would be a poor repayment to Treville’s kindness and patience over the years.”

Porthos chuckled and patted Aramis’s good arm before turning and leaving. Aramis kept the smile on his face the entire time he watched Porthos walk away, which wasn’t hard—he loved watching Porthos walk away. With a filthy chuckle to himself, Aramis turned once Porthos rounded a corner and was out of sight and headed for the stables. It should be a quiet spot at this time of day. The men leaving on Musketeer business requiring a mount would have already departed, and the rest of the horses would have been fed by now. There should only be perhaps one stable boy, ready to help saddle a horse in case of emergency. 

He was quite pleased to see his beliefs affirmed a few minutes later when he reached the stable. The stable boy had even headed off. Plucking up one of the whetstones that always lined an exposed support beam just inside the door, he made his way to the back corner. There was already a stool there, and he nudged it with his toe so it would be tucked into the corner where he could lean back with optimal support. 

Although Aramis had no love as strong as that for firearms, he did love his blades. He loved using them and looking at them and caring for them. The rhythm of sharpening a blade was mesmerizing, and Aramis could get lost in the sound and the movement in a way nothing else allowed him. The motion disturbed his sore shoulder not at all, and in a moment he found himself in a trance without a worried Porthos, a scowling Athos, or any pain. 

“How are you doing, Aramis?” 

So lost in his work, it took Aramis two swipes down the blade to realize someone had just spoken to him. He stilled his hands and immediately felt the ache in his shoulder and back again. And yet, he did his best to look pleased, to give no notion that he hurt or was annoyed at the disturbance. “Captain.” He climbed to his feet. “I’m fine. Thank you for asking.” 

Treville frowned. “Really? Because I’ve seen you work often enough with a blade in your left hand, but never to the exclusion of your right.” 

“Oh, that,” Aramis forced a jolly, nonchalant tone. “I was simply having a lark.” 

“Is that so? What would you say if I asked you to spar with me right now?” 

“I would say that even at my healthiest, highest peak of physical readiness, I am never a match for the best swordsman in France.” 

“I happily ceded that title to Athos. But I’m only talking about a spar, not a duel.” 

Why did Treville have to push? As if having Athos questioning his fitness for duty wasn’t enough. Treville was always so supportive and understanding. Why would he choose now of all times to change that? “I would say that no man desires to be embarrassed, even at practice. You are a master, sir.” 

“As is Athos, but I’ve seen you spar with him.” 

“Seen me stand near him, hoping to avoid utter humiliation.” 

Treville shook his head and harrumphed. “You can’t talk your way out of this.” 

“Sir, I have no intention of talking my way out of anything. I merely—” 

“If you aren’t going to be ready for the mission, just say so.” Treville’s steady gaze stopped Aramis from even thinking about responding. “I know you believe you can do anything, but if you can’t protect your brothers to the best of your ability, you owe it to them to stay behind.” 

“The question isn’t whether I am at my best, but if I am more fit to protect them than anyone else in the regiment.” 

Treville exhaled loudly through his nose and shook his head. “You’re a good Musketeer, Aramis. Very good. But you aren’t the only talented man in the regiment. This mission probably won’t require a sharpshooter, which is good, since you’re not much of a shooter at the moment. Don’t think I didn’t notice your little trick the other day. Can you even shoot a properly loaded weapon with your shoulder, or is the recoil going to leave you screaming? A problematic trait in a sharpshooter, don’t you agree?” 

Aramis couldn’t stop a brief clenching of his jaw before forcing his countenance back to something more pleasant. The fact was, yesterday during target practice, he had massively under-powdered every shot, so as to lessen the recoil. How the hell had Treville noticed? The fact was, he dreaded putting either his musket or arquebus up to his shoulder fully loaded and feeling the kick. “I’m sure I would maintain my composure, sir. For the sake of my brothers.” 

Treville’s eyes narrowed. “You keep thinking about your brothers as you decide whether or not you should bow out of this mission.” 

“You’re leaving the decision to me?” Aramis asked, wary of letting hope creep into his thoughts or voice. “You won’t force me to stay behind?” 

“The final decision is with Athos. He’s leading the mission, therefore, he gets the final say on his personnel.” 

Aramis tried not to sound petulant, but he was reasonably sure a whine leaked into his voice. “But you can’t leave it up to Athos. He’ll leave me behind for sure. And not because he thinks I can’t handle my job on the mission.” 

“You mean you think he’ll leave you behind because of what he found you and Porthos doing in the bath yesterday?” Aramis could feel his jaw drop, and Treville smirked. “Didn’t you notice he came and went through my office? He seemed concerned about the topic of rendering oneself unfit for duty. I told him he probably shouldn’t worry about such topics.” 

Aramis lit up, but only for a moment as his conversation with Athos that morning came back to his mind. “But when I spoke to him today, he clearly indicated that he thinks I’m unfit.” 

“Then either prove yourself fit, or admit you need to stay behind this time. There’s no shame in it. If it makes you feel any better,” and here, Treville took a step, closing the distance between them. He brushed his thumb across Aramis’s lips, eliciting a sigh. “I would take care of you while they are gone. I wouldn’t let you languish. Think about it, Aramis. Think about what is truly best for you and for Porthos and the entire regiment.” 

Treville rested the hand he had swiped across Aramis’s lips on his shoulder. Aramis turned his head and kissed it. “I will, Captain. I promise.” 

With that, Treville walked away, and Aramis gathered his blade and whetstone. He needed to go back out there, to the training yard with the other Musketeers, and see if his body was up to it. And if it wasn’t, well, he would deal with that should it happen. Although he was sure he would be able to make it. He had two days to prove his capability. It was just a matter of taking it slowly, so he would have some lunch and then perhaps go for a short ride. He could save sword and shooting practice for tomorrow after he’d had another night of rest. 

But Athos did not agree to this schedule. Oh, he let Aramis eat; he even sat near Aramis and Porthos and traded some small talk. When the meal ended, Aramis opened his smiling mouth to announce his plans to take Fidget out for a ride and see if Porthos would want to come with him, allowing Athos to decline since he would be too busy. However, he never got a single word of his carefully prepared speech about Fidget needing her exercise as much as he needed his own, when Athos spoke first. 

“Shall we spar?” 

Aramis wanted to say “no” for various reasons: he had other plans and a lovely explanation about them; he disliked sparring with a partner so much better; he hurt too damned much. But he couldn’t say “no,” could he? Any reason he gave Athos would be read as unfitness for duty. Yet, Athos was too good a swordsman and too good a trainer not to see what a pitiful exhibit Aramis would make. He had to avoid it somehow.

Except, he couldn’t, so in other words, he was completely screwed. The only question was would he flounder and embarrass himself trying to talk his way out of it, be a coward and weakling and admit he couldn’t do it, or allow Athos to humiliate him. Because it seemed the more done thing, he opted for the last option. 

“I’d love to,” he grinned. 

It took thirty seconds, if he was being generous to himself, for the severity of his ailments to become apparent. Athos, in a rare mood of pity, pretended for a full minute. But then he stopped, and very calmly said, “Has a surgeon taken a look at your shoulder and back?” 

“For battle injuries, I’m as knowledgeable as any surgeon in Paris,” Aramis said through gritted teeth. 

“And what would you tell a man with your injuries?” 

Aramis stopped and held his breath. He’d never phrased the question to himself in so many words, but he knew the answer. The awkwardness that answer caused must have shown on his face, because Athos smirked knowingly at him. “Get some rest, Aramis.” 

“But,” Aramis started softly, “I need to get ready for the mission. You can’t leave me behind.” 

“I can do what is best for the mission. Best for the Musketeers and France. You need rest, Aramis. You know that quite well.” 

“Yes,” Aramis said, and then immediately clenched his jaw to stop it from trembling. After swallowing twice, he felt almost enough composure to speak. Since he doubted he would ever surpass “almost,” he said, “I will rest. And I will do so elsewhere.” He sheathed his sword and left the garrison.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I want us to always be together. To be….” 
> 
> “Inseparable?”
> 
>  
> 
> Treville sends Athos off for a bath while Aramis remains missing.

“He still isn’t back. I expected him to be back.” 

Athos nodded in agreement with Porthos’s assessment. Supper was now over, not that either of them had eaten much of what had been put in front of them, and Aramis had not returned. Where was he? What had he done? Athos had never seen Aramis in such a state, and he only had bad guesses based on his own destructive behavior for what Aramis might have done all afternoon and evening. With night falling, what would he do next? “Where do you think he is? Have you ever seen him this upset?” 

Porthos rubbed his eyes. Athos had noticed earlier how exhausted Porthos looked, even before the hard day’s training and Aramis’s dramatic exit. He wondered if Porthos had been up with Aramis all night either soothing his pain or giving him pleasure. Athos dropped his eyes from Porthos’s face, not sure which possibility he found more uncomfortable. 

“I don’t know, Athos. I truly don’t. This isn’t like him. He might be at one of his usual haunts. At least that’s where I plan to start looking.” 

“I’ll come with you.” 

“No,” Porthos shook his head. “I can check them all fast enough on my own. Stay here in case he comes back.” 

Athos wanted to ask if Porthos was truly leaving him behind because he feared how Aramis would react. But Athos did not want the answer, so merely nodded, and said, “Very well. If you find him, tell him I….” Athos held his breath. “I don’t know what to tell him.” 

Porthos gave Athos’s shoulder a strong pat. “I’ll tell him you’re worried because you care.” 

Athos nodded without looking up or watching Porthos slip from the bench beside him and head out of the garrison. In fact, he sat immobile, staring at the heel of bread he hadn’t bothered to eat until he heard Treville’s voice calling down to him from above. When he raised his head, Athos saw Treville leaning on the railing of the balcony outside his office. His concerned countenance made Athos flinch. 

“Athos,” was all Treville said, but Athos understood it for the summons it was, so he rose from the bench and forced himself up the stairs as quickly as he could, not that he had the power to move genuinely fast. When Athos reached the balcony, Treville stood up straight and headed into his office. Athos, of course, followed. 

Treville turned and leaned back against the front of his desk. “Close the door,” he said to Athos. 

Athos did as he was bid and then walked over to Treville, stopping a few feet in front of him, just as he would if he were there to report. Treville gave him a sad half smile and nodded to the desk beside him. So Athos slid in next to Treville on his right, assuming the same posture—resting, but not quite sitting on the edge of the desk, staring at the opposite wall. 

“He’ll come back,” Treville said. “Aramis is the kind who always comes back.” 

“Are you sure?” Athos asked, afraid to hope. 

“I am. Did Porthos go to look for him?” 

“Yes. I offered to go as well, but he said I should stay here, in case Aramis returns on his own.” Athos paused, afraid to say what else he was thinking. But then Treville’s hand settled over his where it gripped the edge of the desk. Athos took a deep breath and closed his eyes, hoping to gather himself. He had lasted so long without this. He thought he had moved beyond his need for the Captain to console him. He had naively believed the scared boy in him had grown up. But here he was again, needing. “It’s my fault he left.” 

“Why would you say that?” 

“He made a remark about his skill as a medic, and I challenged him to consider, as a medic, what he would tell a man in his position.” 

“Ah. He didn’t take that well, because he knows he would tell another soldier to rest and stay home.” 

“Perhaps he is fit to go.” 

Treville wrapped his arm around Athos’s shoulders, placing his hand on the side of Athos’s head so he could gently pull it over and rest it on his shoulder. “Oh, Athos. I know you don’t want to hurt Aramis. Or Porthos, for that matter. But command is sometimes not about avoiding hurt, but deciding what will hurt just a little bit less.” 

Athos leaned more heavily against Treville, letting himself sink into that strong shoulder that had carried his burdens so often. Part of him hated using the Captain this way, but more than once when Athos had questioned Treville about this in years gone by, Treville had replied that a good officer knows what his men need. Which meant Athos must need this—he must need to feel Treville’s fingers stroking his hair, and now his lips kissing the top of his head. Athos hated being so weak, but that only meant he didn’t have the strength to fight it. 

“Your hair is disgusting,” Treville chuckled, pulling Athos tighter. “Go take a bath. You’ll feel better.” 

“What about Aramis? I don’t know what Porthos expects me to do if Aramis comes back, but I promised Porthos I would be here for Aramis if he did return.” 

“I’ll keep an eye out for Aramis.” With another kiss to the top of Athos’s head and a manly pat on the shoulder, Treville released Athos, and Athos realized he had been dismissed. 

Treville walked Athos over to his private entrance to the bathhouse. With a soft stroke across the back of Athos’s neck, he said, “Just soak until you feel better. The water should be plenty hot—I told Marcel that you would be in there for a while.”

“You already had a bath prepared for me?”

“Anticipate your men’s needs.” Treville gave him a swift kiss to the forehead and showed him through the door to the stairs. 

When Athos reached the bottom and opened the door, the bathhouse was empty of other men, but a copper tub—the same one Aramis had been in yesterday—steamed with hot water on the other side of the room. He was already down to shirt and pants, so he ripped off his shirt and started on the buttons of his pants as he crossed the room. When he arrived, he had only to kick off his boots and finish sliding out of his clothes before sinking into the tub.

He sat there in the water, merely soaking, trying to think but never focusing, until the steam dissipated and the water turned from hot to tepid. What was he to do? His first duty was to the mission, wasn’t it? However he felt about Aramis, Athos needed to ensure the success of the mission and the safety of the men under his command as best he could. Taking Aramis achieved neither of those goals. Athos remembered the hurt on Aramis’s face when he suggested rest, and Athos questioned if Aramis might not matter more than any of them. But Treville had counseled to do what will hurt less, therefore, he had to…. Athos smacked the surface of the water with his fist, spraying water over the sides. 

“Think logically,” he told himself. “What happens if you leave Aramis behind?” 

He tried to settle in and think. What would happen was this: Aramis would be upset. Very upset, possibly to the point that their relationship would be permanently harmed. But he would also get the chance to heal, and Treville would surely speak to Aramis on Athos’s behalf. In Aramis’s place, Athos would have to take someone else, probably Georges, who wasn’t as talented, intuitive, or fast as Aramis when Aramis was well. However, with Aramis hardly himself, Georges would be good enough, and in fact, under the circumstances, better. 

On the other side of the argument lay what would most likely happen if Athos allowed Aramis to come. The entire mission, he and Porthos would be worrying about Aramis and covering for his physical deficiencies. If real trouble arose, Aramis may not be able to defend himself, let alone his brothers. Would Aramis still thank Athos for taking him on the mission if his injuries led to some hurt to Porthos? In fact, what would Porthos think if Athos brought Aramis and something terrible happened to Aramis because he could not protect himself? 

Porthos loved Aramis deeply. Athos had seen it on his face the day before until Athos had stopped him here at this very tub. Porthos would be miserable without Aramis, but surely he would prefer Aramis be safe and recover more than he would want Aramis with them. Right? But Aramis was so beautiful, even Athos found it hard to breathe around him, so how would Aramis’s lover feel being without him? Porthos’s affection was so lovely. Athos would give anything for just a small hint of such caring from Porthos—glorious, handsome Porthos. 

Athos slid down until his head went under the water. He brushed the hair back from his eyes, tried to pretend that he didn’t want to scream, acted as if he just wanted to wash the dirt from his hair. But it was useless; Athos was conflicted and as emotionally bruised as Aramis’s back. He opened his mouth and screamed under the surface and beat his fists against the bottom of the tub. 

He shot up out of the water with a growl, spraying water all over the flagstones of the floor. Somehow, over the sound of churning water, he heard a small gasp behind him. He spun around to see Aramis standing just inside the door. Of all of the outcomes Athos had envisioned, he’d never expected Aramis to come here to find him.

But what a stupid way to phrase it! Aramis hadn’t come here looking for Athos—that he had come here and sadly found Athos was more probable. Aramis, in fact turned to leave. Athos couldn’t allow that. He stood up and faced Aramis, and said the first words that came to mind, “Please don’t go.” 

Aramis paused, looking back at Athos. Something in his expression made Athos fear he still might leave, so he removed himself as quickly as possible from the bathtub. Aware that having this conversation with Aramis naked and dripping wet might prove uncomfortable, Athos grabbed the towel next to the tub and attempted to wrap it around his waist as he raced to the door. 

“Aramis, I’m so sorry,” Athos said, a bit breathless. Aramis turned his face away, but Athos didn’t know what to say next. What did he want to say? What, precisely, was he sorry for? He hadn’t even decided yet for certain if he would leave Aramis behind or not. But he had to say something, something to let Aramis know that he cared. “Porthos and I were worried about you. He’s out searching Paris for you.” 

“And your response was to take a bath?” 

The towel around Athos’s waist started to slip, and he fidgeted with it while he cursed himself for saying something so ridiculous. There was no good way to explain that Porthos had told him to stay behind and Treville had as much as ordered him to bathe. “I…it’s…Aramis, I just want what’s best for you. It’s all I ever want.” 

“What’s best for me? What did I ever do to deserve such special attention?” Bitterness leaked out with every word, Athos struggling to figure out how to make this right. 

“You and Porthos matter so much to me. I will always want the best for both of you.” 

Aramis finally met Athos’s gaze. His lips turned up at the corners, but nothing in his smile actually looked happy. “And so when Porthos and I are trying to find our pleasure, to give each other what we need, you stop us?” 

Athos thought for a moment about need, about what he had needed yesterday and then again earlier tonight from Treville. He understood need, but how to explain to Aramis that he did, and that he worried about Aramis’s health so much, certainly far more than his own welfare. Could Aramis possibly understand that what Athos needed most was for Aramis to be well? “I was afraid he would hurt you. Not on purpose—never on purpose—but I so wanted you to recover so you could come with us.” Athos shifted the slipping towel again, but tried not to be distracted by it, and instead keep his focus on Aramis’s perfect eyes. “I want us to always be together. To be….” 

“Inseparable?” Aramis whispered. He took a step closer until Athos could feel Aramis’s breath on his cheek. 

“Yes,” Athos answered more as a pant than a true word. The impossible towel came loose again, but when Athos attempted to hold it up, Aramis took ahold of his hands. The towel puddled on the floor. 

“You don’t need that,” Aramis whispered into Athos’s ear, pressing their chests together. “Athos, I want the three of us to never be apart. I didn’t want to let my body stop us from being together always. I need this, Athos. I need Porthos’s touch. And I want to add the feeling of your lips on mine to my list of necessities.” 

“Then you should have it,” Athos said, threading his fingers into Aramis’s hair. “I want to take care of you. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. It’s why I worry and why I’m stern. It’s how I know how to show that I care.” 

Aramis smiled wickedly. “I’ll remember that you equate sternness with love.” 

Love. Aramis had said he would remember what Athos loved. He couldn’t keep what Aramis said he needed from him no longer. Athos softly pressed his lips against Aramis’s, still in a fog that this could be happening, hesitant for fear it might end at any moment, gentle lest he hurt Aramis. But Aramis wasted no time pressing harder against Athos’s mouth, pulling Athos closer. When Aramis grabbed a fistful of Athos’s hair and pulled, Athos moaned deep in his throat and attacked Aramis’s mouth with renewed vigor. 

“I am so glad Captain Treville told me to come down and take a bath,” Aramis smiled when they parted.

“Treville told you to come here…and bathe?”

“He thought it would do me good.”

Athos smiled. “He told me to come here and soak.”

Aramis grinned back. “You don’t think he…?”

“I think I’m dying to kiss you again.” Aramis quite happy complied, and Athos wrapped his arms around Aramis’s ribs, trying his best to get below the bruise, and pulled him close. With a contented hum, Aramis thrust his tongue deeper into Athos’s mouth and his hand tighter into his hair.

“Well, I never. Glad to see you made it back, Aramis.” 

They broke apart and Athos looked just behind Aramis at the door to the bathhouse. There stood Porthos, looking equal parts annoyed and amused, but it seemed to Athos as though the latter might triumph. Still, Athos suddenly remembered himself, recalled that he was naked, kissing Porthos’s lover. Athos might desire them both, and Aramis may have said he needed them both, but it was a bit much to think, or even hope, Porthos might feel the same way. 

“Porthos, I apologize,” Athos began, looking down to see where the towel had fallen. 

But Aramis didn’t allow him to bend over and pick it up. He slid his left arm around Athos’s waist and held him close up against his side. “Don’t tell me—Captain Treville sent you.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It was a filthy kiss—more tongue than lips—and Porthos adored every second."
> 
> I think it's officially time for everyone to come clean, you could say.

Porthos just stood, stared long and hard at Aramis and Athos for a minute. How did Aramis know he had been sent to the bathhouse by the Captain? Why did it matter if Aramis knew? How could he focus on anything at this moment besides how Athos’s wet skin looked pressed against Aramis’s leathers? All he really wanted to know was would they let him join?

“Are you hoping I’ll answer yes or no to that?” Porthos asked.

“Oh, go ahead and say ‘yes’ since I know that’s the truth,” Aramis smiled. “Do you know what else I know? Athos does indeed love to have his hair pulled.”

Athos looked at Aramis fleetingly before dropping his gaze and blushing. Porthos and Aramis shared a look, both certainly remembering their talks about what they suspected Athos may enjoy. They had both agreed he would probably like a little, or maybe even a lot, of pain. When Porthos could no longer ignore his cock pressing hard against his pants, he knew he needed to test the theory himself.

“Let me see,” Porthos said. It only took him a single long stride to reach Athos. He hesitated for a moment to give Athos time to refuse, but when he didn’t, Porthos thrust his fingers into that glorious hair. It was damp and soft, and Porthos just wanted to touch it for a while, appreciate the texture. But Athos whimpered. Athos, the man who was always composed and led with perfect confidence, was _whimpering_ in anticipation of Porthos yanking his hair. Porthos was helpless to deny him.

Athos fought against the tug, but Porthos could tell it was to heighten the sensation, not an attempt to get away. So he pulled harder. Meanwhile, Aramis was tightening his arm around Athos’s perfect waist. Porthos forced Athos’s head back as far as it would go and began sucking that elegant, pale neck he’d thought about so many times.

“You see, Porthos,” Aramis said while Porthos continued and Athos made the most delightful noises. “We’ve made up. Athos was just worried about me, and I hated the very idea of being away from either of you for even a day.”

“Does he forgive me, too?” Porthos asked Aramis, but he was looking at Athos.

“If you ask nicely, I cannot believe he wouldn’t forgive you,” Aramis answered.

“Athos,” said Porthos, brushing that man’s lips with his own. “Do you forgive me?”

“Forgive what?” Athos kissed him, just a soft, barely noticeable meeting of their lips. “I was only concerned for Aramis. I know you understand.”

“You worried I wasn’t being gentle enough,” Porthos said. He moved his lips as softly down Athos’s jaw as he could, even though he longed to bite and pull Athos’s wet, naked body fast against his own. “Aramis needs passion. He needs it to live, like you and I need air. But if you want to show me a way to be gentler with Aramis while giving him what he needs, I want to see it. Show me how, Athos.” Porthos pushed his tongue in Athos’s mouth, slowly licking everywhere he could reach.

Athos flicked his own tongue across Porthos’s before pulling back. “Bar the door and strip, and I will.”

“What about me, Athos?” asked Aramis, his hand tracing Athos’s hip in a manner that made Porthos want to suck Aramis’s fingers and bite Athos’s hip at the same time.

“Naked. Definitely naked. You should always be naked.” Athos followed these words with action and started stripping Aramis. Porthos hurried to bar the door and get to work on his own buttons and ties and clasps.

Porthos couldn’t stop watching Athos undress Aramis. Athos’s touch looked perfect—his fingers so deft and sure, but never frantic or harsh. And bit by bit, Aramis’s beautiful body was revealed, all lithe muscle and sensitive skin. Porthos felt a brief pang of jealousy, but when he realized he didn’t know which of them to be more jealous of, he decided to just be grateful he got to see this. 

Once Athos had Aramis completely naked, he stepped back to admire his handiwork. “He’s so beautiful, Porthos.”

“He truly is,” Porthos replied, stepping forward and resting a hand on Athos’s shoulder. “Wait until you get him wet. You’ve never seen anything prettier.”

Athos turned to face Porthos. His eyes caught Porthos’s and wouldn’t let go. And the slight smile curling the corners of those remarkable lips nearly did in Porthos. “I don’t know about _prettier_ ,” Athos ran his hand across Porthos’s chest, “but its equal I think I’m looking at right now.”

And with that, Porthos _was_ done in. He pulled Athos to him fiercely, kissed him hard, licked those scarred lips and ran his hands over that slim waist that he and Aramis had so recently fantasized about.

“What happened to demonstrating gentle passion?” Aramis asked with a chuckle.

Athos pulled back with a panting smile. “What do you need?” he asked Porthos.

“Me?” Porthos grinned, fearing he might actually blush, he was so caught off guard by the question. “Honestly, just that. Just knowing you care enough to ask.” He kissed Athos again, this time a bit more sweetly, but with no less fire. 

When Athos broke the kiss, his command voice returned. Porthos loved it so much, he was afraid from now on every time Athos gave him an order, he’d end up at least half hard. “Then let us take care of Aramis together.”

Porthos let out a low rumble. “I’ve never heard a better idea.”

“And focus has been restored,” said Aramis. When Porthos looked at him, Aramis’s grin was so broad it crinkled his eyes. Lord, but he really was gorgeous. Aramis stepped up to Athos and whispered in his ear, “Where will today’s lesson be held?”

“Large bath,” Athos answered. “We all need to get in without being cramped. For safety.”

Aramis kissed Athos’s earlobe and then took them each by the hand and led the way to the bath. “It does look inviting. What would you like me to do?”

“I’ll get into the bath first,” explained Athos. “Porthos will help you down and settle you next to me. Then he will join us. You two will just have to see from there.” Athos brushed a lock of Aramis’s hair from his forehead. “Is that acceptable to you both?”

“I think we’re both happily to follow wherever you lead on this one,” Porthos said.

Athos raised an eyebrow. “Only this one?”

Porthos grabbed Athos’s hair tight, but then lay a disproportionately soft kiss on his lips. “You know we’d follow you anywhere.”

Without a word, only the slightest hint of a smile, Athos pulled away and slipped into the water. He set himself up in the corner on one of the benches, the water lapping across his nipples when he sat. As gently as he could, Porthos helped Aramis down on Athos’s left, but Athos spread his legs and pulled Aramis’s back flush with his chest. When Aramis moaned and threw his head back on Athos’s shoulder, Porthos felt his cock throb. He flopped into the water with absolutely no grace.

Athos’s lips traced up and down the side of Aramis’s neck while his hands roamed Aramis’s chest. Porthos pressed in close, kissed Aramis’s mouth. Fingertips dug into his hips, but he couldn’t be quite sure whose fingers. They felt like Aramis’s but the grip was different. Porthos couldn’t guess if that meant they must be Athos’s fingers or that Aramis was newly inflamed in a way he’d never been before. Either way, Porthos had no desire to end the kiss or pull back and open his eyes to find out.

“Now, you see, Porthos,” said Athos, his voice the equivalent of a deep, wet kiss, “I suggest cradling Aramis to keep him safe.” Aramis hummed his approval into Porthos’s mouth. “Hold him close to your body so he remains stable and cushioned.”

“The fact that this positions forces a hard cock into the cleft of my ass is merely a happy coincidence for the person holding me,” Aramis told Porthos, chuckling.

Porthos felt the water ripple as Athos ground against Aramis. “Are you saying I do not deserve some compensation for making your comfort a priority?”

“But, you see, Athos,” Aramis started, the filthy glint in his eye making Porthos lick his lips, “I am terribly _un_ comfortable in other ways.”

“Allow me,” Porthos rumbled. He wrapped Aramis’s cock in his fist, and he wanted to start yanking so hard, but Athos had ordered gentleness, hadn’t he? Porthos kept a loose grip on Aramis as he slid his hand from base to tip, tightening just a bit at the end so his hand didn’t slip right off. He did it again, and Aramis growled.

“If you think that is anything but torture, you are entirely mistaken,” Aramis hissed through clenched teeth.

“Unless I have completely misread you,” Athos murmured between kisses to Aramis’s neck, “you rather enjoy the tease. Anything to heighten the passion.” Porthos could feel Athos’s hand slide up between his body and Aramis’s. When Aramis moaned, Porthos looked down to find Athos’s fingers circling one of Aramis’s nipples.

“Yes,” Aramis moaned, throwing his head back again. “Yes, I love it. I love being touched and teased. But, dear God, I need release eventually.”

“Eventually,” Athos answered, slipping his other hand around and over Aramis’s left shoulder. His fingertips prodded Aramis’s lips until he parted them and sucked them inside. Porthos still tried not to take Aramis too tight, but he couldn’t help speeding up his stroke. “For now, relax. How do you feel? Are you comfortable?”

With Athos’s fingers in his mouth, all Aramis could manage was a contented hum. And a grind back against Athos’s cock. Porthos leaned forward so as to not lose his grip on Aramis. He found himself staring at Athos over Aramis’s shoulder. He was fucking beautiful—damp and glowing, and in spite of his still apparent control, clearly full of lust. Porthos hadn’t thought he would ever see Athos’s eyelids droop with anything other than disdain. But here he was, brimming with desire, and Porthos _had_ to kiss him.

Porthos lunged over Aramis’s shoulder and Athos’s tongue immediately found its way into his mouth. As in all things, Porthos deferred to Athos, let him lead where he wished to take them. It was a filthy kiss—more tongue than lips—and Porthos adored every second. Once more he reached into Athos’s hair and clutched tightly. Aramis’s cock was forced harder into Porthos’s fist by Athos’s bucking hips.

Aramis, kind Aramis who never forgot Porthos, took hold of Porthos’s cock. Athos started at Porthos’s deep moan. Actually, Athos totally broke the kiss, panting as he stared into Porthos’s eyes, until he dropped his face and brushed his lips across Aramis’s upper back. Porthos lowered his head on to Aramis’s shoulder, but the second Aramis hissed, and not with pleasure, Porthos jerked his head up.

“Oh, God. Your bad shoulder. I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” Porthos said, pleading into Aramis’s gaze.

But Aramis only hummed and smiled around Athos’s fingers, which he continued sucking. The fingers be damned, Porthos needed to kiss Aramis, to both apologize and express his love.

So Porthos pressed his lips to Aramis’s, as well as to the knuckles on the back of the fingers in his mouth. Porthos moved his own lips, and in a moment, Aramis was kissing him back, while refusing to release Athos’s fingers. However, one finger eventually escaped and found its way into Porthos’s mouth, so that they were both kissing around Athos’s fingers.

At that point, none of them could show any restraint. Aramis and Porthos both tugged hard at each other, while Aramis and Athos ground in earnest, not just short, single occasional thrusts, but a maintained motion with rhythm. Porthos did his best to find their cadence, soon matching them so that all three moved together, moaning, growling, sighing.

Aramis came first. Porthos knew from the way Aramis panted more than he kissed that he was close, so it was no surprise when he spent. Porthos was near enough he could feel a spot on his thigh that was warmer and denser than the water.

Aramis being Aramis did not take this as an excuse to relax exhausted, but to give his full attention to his lovers. Unconstrained by Porthos’s hand on his cock, Aramis could push against Athos with no other concern than Athos. But Aramis would never neglect Porthos, and his hand worked up and down Porthos’s cock so perfectly, it was a complete surprise to Porthos when Athos came next.

Porthos had never though he would describe a noise from another person as an elegant whine, but that’s how Athos sounded as he pushed his forehead against the back of Aramis’s head. Or maybe a classy whimper? Whatever you called it, it struck Porthos as exactly the sound he should have known Athos would make when his pleasure came.

Porthos actually gave half a chuckle at the words “his pleasure came.” Only being with Athos would make him phrase it like that. But the second half of the chuckle was stopped by Aramis brushing his thumb over the tip of Porthos’s cock. Then he shoved his hand the base and squeezed so hard on the trip back up. Two repetitions of this and Porthos couldn’t hold out and he came.

He rested his forehead against Aramis’s when he finished. They smiled and laughed at each other and kissed as Porthos found himself again. And then there was Athos, peeking over Aramis’s shoulder. Porthos pressed a smiling kiss to his lips as well.

“Thank you for the lesson,” Porthos said. “But I think I was so out of my mind at some points you may need to show me again.”

“As soon as you two return,” Aramis said. “I will have this bath waiting for us all, and by then I’m sure I will feel up to participating more vigorously.”

“So, you will stay here? Of your own volition?” Athos asked.

“I am not up to protecting the two of you.” He frowned, but then kissed them both on the cheek. “Promise you will keep each other safe and warm.”

“Of course,” Porthos answered, kissing him hard on the mouth, so happy everything had been resolved without more harsh words and hurt.

“We will miss you,” Athos said, kissing Aramis’s injured shoulder.

“Isn’t this just too touching,” said a rough voice from behind Athos and Aramis. Porthos could see Captain Treville quite well at the door leading to his office. He leaned against the door frame, a grimace on his face has he shook his head. “It does me real good to see that the three of you have straightened this out. However, before I take a bath in there tomorrow morning, I expect it to be drained, scrubbed, and refilled.”

Without another word, Treville passed through the door and closed it behind him. Athos hid his face against Aramis’s back while Aramis laughed. Porthos pulled them both as close as he could and smiled until his face hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday, pansicles!!!!!! *smooch*


End file.
